


Why Don't We Stay

by legallyblained



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legallyblained/pseuds/legallyblained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never hooked up at the wedding. There were no proposals or dinners with lesbians or reunions - just a slow fading of friendship and gradual loss of contact, and Kurt thinks he may have made a mistake.</p><p>Yep, more reunion fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Don't We Stay

Kurt never used to hate Valentine’s Day. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He hated it in middle school. He hated it his first two years of high school. Then he’d had a couple of good ones, when he’d had a best friend, then a boyfriend, then a- something he couldn’t quite define at the time. But those were a long time ago. Since then there had been boring ones and disastrous ones and perfectly pleasant ones, but they’d never lived up to those three. This year he’d planned a night alone. His friends had tried to talk him into babysitting while they carried out their plans, but he figured if nobody else cared about him today, at least he could put himself first. He kept his head down at rehearsal as everyone else got flowers and chocolates and balloons and stuffed bears which he really didn’t want to be jealous of but kind of couldn’t help himself, got the subway home and went straight upstairs with a glass of wine. He opened every drawer and wardrobe door in his bedroom as he sang obnoxiously loudly and told himself it was completely fine to be single and almost thirty and that February 14th was just another day. Another day of being single and almost thirty. It was _completely fine_. He was going to have a clear-out.

He _was_. After half a pizza and his second glass of wine, he found himself sitting on his bed with a half-emptied shoebox and dozens of memories scattered all over his comforter. Starting with the special shoebox full of precious things he kept under his bed, the box he would have grabbed on his way out in a fire, may have been a bad idea. Obviously there were knick-knacks in there that reminded him of everyone. There was his mother’s perfume bottle; one of dad’s old baseball caps that smelled like him; a tiny Eiffel Tower from his and Rachel’s trip to Paris in their senior year; a vile bedazzled shot glass Santana had given him for his twentieth birthday. His eyes watered as he picked each one out, taking a moment to remember the story behind it and the people he loved. He took a deep breath as he reached the dangerous side of the box, because of course it took up more space than anything else: the Blaine stuff.

There was the first note he’d ever written him (a scrap of paper with a doodle of him snoring and the words ‘don’t worry, I promise warbler practise will be more fun than geometry’ which had made Kurt giggle and blush), letters from Lima to New York, the bow tie he’d worn the day he transferred, even that stupid heart-shaped eye-patch. There were a couple of Valentine’s cards. One said ‘Kurt, you are the coolest, funniest, most awesome best friend I could ask for. Happy V-Day! Love from a super-secret admirer who is definitely not Blaine. Nope. Legit Valentine right here. Xxx.’ Another: ‘Dear Kurt, Happy Valentine’s Day. I know I don’t need to tell you, but I love you. I love you more than anything, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. All my love, Blaine. P.S. I also can’t wait for you to screw my brains out later xxxxxx’ 

The third was different.

‘Dear Kurt, 

‘I don’t know if this is okay. I almost crossed out the heart on the front, just so you’d know I don’t expect anything from you, but it felt stupid. I guess it’s just a different kind of heart now. I wish things didn’t have to be like this, but I’m so glad we’re still friends. I love you. Blaine x’

Kurt read it over and over. He remembered how happy Blaine was to see him at the wedding, how much he’d wanted to kiss him, how he’d stopped himself because- because what? He remembered what had happened, he wasn’t senile yet, but looking back it all seemed so stupid. It wasn’t like he’d been alone ever since. There had been Adam, and a few other guys, sweet, charming men who had liked him and who he’d liked back, but they weren’t Blaine. He’d told himself ‘You can trust this guy. At least he would never cheat on you,’ but he’d always replied ‘I wouldn’t care if he did.’ He’d spent fifteen years trying to move on and it hadn’t worked, and it was all because of one stupid mistake.

He pulled out the photo from the box, still in its frame, of the two of them at prom in his junior year. He smiled as he remembered Puck’s face when he gave it to him. He’d been snapping the whole night, snorting with Lauren over the bad ones of Finn trying to dance and Rachel staring hopelessly at him and Quinn, and Brittany dancing like a graceful maniac, and for the next week he’d taunted Kurt, threatening him with a ‘totally embarrassing shot of you and your boyfriend, you’re gonna want to move back to Dalton when you see your face in it’. Kurt had used his angriest voice, which at the time still had very little menace, telling him ‘if you don’t delete whatever it is you’ve got on me, I swear I’ll kick you so hard you can hit higher notes than me’, but Puck had laughed it off, saying ‘all in good time, Hummel.’ The next day, he’d come in with the photo, neatly framed, of him and Blaine dancing and smiling at each other, slightly shy but already completely smitten.

_“I just thought it was a pretty cool picture. Hold onto him, okay? He really loves you.”_

It meant so much, hearing Puck of all people say it, Puck who used to throw him in dumpsters and call him names, Puck who’d called everything he didn’t like ‘gay’ until a just a year earlier, Puck who was still one of his best friends today and who almost cried when Kurt told him he’d broken up with Blaine for good. Noah jock-moron-homophobe Puckerman cared about him and his boyfriend. Puck told him Blaine loved him before Blaine did. He could still see him trying to tighten his jaw and pretend the picture was no biggie. Kurt had hugged him and added the obligatory slap on the back so he could still feel like a straight guy and he’d nodded and walked away, blinking furiously. Kurt had clutched the photo then just like he was now.

He stared at sixteen-year-old Blaine and remembered how scared he’d been before they went to that dance, how he’d refused to back down and just squeezed Kurt’s hand a little tighter every time one of the jocks had gotten a little too close. How when he was left alone in the middle of the dance floor, totally humiliated, Blaine had stepped in and asked him to dance. How that hand on the small of his back had somehow made everything okay and how they’d slept together that night (in pyjamas, of course), wrapped around each other. Even though things had gotten complicated and they’d both screwed up, Blaine had never really changed from that boy, had never looked at him any other way than he did that night. That boy was out there somewhere, with those warm eyes and that loving smile, and because of one night when he was in high school, they weren’t even speaking any more. They’d tried to stay friends, but it got too hard when they started seeing other people and had to pretend to be happy for each other. They still got updates via the rest of the group, but they hadn’t been in contact for almost ten years.

It wasn’t until he licked his lips and tasted salt that Kurt realised he was crying. He heard someone sucking in a desperate breath and heaving out a sob and was surprised that it was him.

He needed to call Blaine.

“Hello? Kurt, is that you?”

He thought hearing his voice might calm him down, but it only made it worse. His feelings started pouring out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them.

“Why did it happen, Blaine? It’s so stupid. We were supposed to be together. Why did it all go wrong, it’s stupid and I hate it and I miss you and none of this makes any sense, everything I do I just wish you were here with me, Blaine, and,” he sniffed, and cut his ramblings off. “God, sorry, I must sound so- ugh. Sorry.”

“God, don’t be sorry. I was just thinking about- what’s wrong? Are you okay? Has something happened?”

He was cut off by the sound of a screaming baby. Kurt’s grip on his phone tightened. He heard another man’s voice in the background.

“Blaine, pumpkin, would you take this one?”

“Yeah, just a second, I’m on the phone. Kurt?”

Kurt sat in stunned silence.

“Oh. You- look, forget I called, okay. Bye, Blaine.”

“What? Oh, fuck, Kurt, wait-”

Kurt hung up.

He was too late. Blaine had succeeded where Kurt had failed. He’d moved on. He was somewhere, loving someone else, he had a life and a baby and God knows what else, and Kurt was slightly drunk in his empty house crying over some old letters and photographs. His phone started buzzing in his hand and he answered without thinking.

“Kurt-”

“No, Blaine, I’m sorry. Just get back to your… your whatever. Forget about me.”

“Never. Would you just let me explain?”

“Explain what?”

“The baby- she’s not mine. She’s Cooper’s. I’m babysitting while he takes Amanda to dinner.”

“So who was calling you pumpkin?”

“Cooper,” he answered in a very matter-of-fact way.

“Oh. That actually doesn’t surprise me.”

“Yeah. Fatherhood hasn’t changed him much.”

“Right. So.”

He sniffed.

“Are you okay? Has something happened? You were really freaking out. Do you need to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing. I was just being silly.”

“Do you… want to meet up or something? Unless you’ve got some kind of Valentine’s plans?”

“No. I mean, no, I don’t have plans, not no, I don’t want to meet up.”

“So… Drinks? I’m guessing you’re still in New York?”

“Oh. Yeah. Wait, what about-”

“They can look after their own kid. I’m not letting you be on your own when you’re this upset.”

Kurt almost argued with him, reminded him they’d barely spoken for a decade, but he knew if it were the other way around he would have done the same.

“Do you know where Santana’s place is? On 6th? She’s not working tonight, but it’ll be easy to get in. They all know me.”

Blaine nodded before remembering he was on the phone. He hit himself on the head.

“Yeah. Yes. Please. Give me thirty minutes.”

Twenty-eight minutes later, they were walking toward the bar from opposite directions. They both felt sick but they were both grinning uncontrollably. They finally met by the door, shifting awkwardly, not sure how to start.

“Hi,” Kurt tried, his voice not much more than a whisper.

“Hi back.”

“I hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t hate this one.”

He kissed Kurt and Kurt kissed him back without hesitation. Kurt’s arms looped over Blaine’s shoulders and Blaine’s hands gripped onto Kurt’s hips and pulled him close, and within five seconds it was as if they’d never been apart. 

“Blaine,” Kurt whispered between breathless kisses, “my place isn’t far,” another kiss, “do you wanna-”

Blaine nodded without pulling his face away from Kurt’s and groaned into his mouth.

They were tugging at each other’s clothes before he even got the door open.

“Kurt, I missed you so much. Nobody else-”

“Me too. It’s always,” he moaned as Blaine nuzzled against his neck, pressing kisses onto his skin, “oh God, it’s always been you, Blaine. I’m sorry it-”

“No. No sorry. More kisses.”

“’Kay.”

They tripped over themselves getting up the stairs and into Kurt’s bedroom, where Kurt saw everything spread over his bed and groaned. Blaine looked to see what was embarrassing him.

“What is it?”

“Just- I was looking through some old stuff earlier. I got kind of emotional.”

“Is that why you called me?”

“No! I… maybe. But it doesn’t mean this-”

Blaine shut him up with another kiss.

“I don’t care. You called. I’m here. That’s all that matters. And even if I did mind, at least there’s pizza.”

“You want pizza, you better get your own.”

“I just want you.”

Kurt pushed Blaine onto the bed and slid everything else onto the floor. Blaine spotted the various things that were from him and smiled because he had a similar box of Kurt things under his bed. Their clothes joined the items on the floor after a lot of fumbling and getting heads stuck in sweaters and hopeless giggling and a lot more kissing. Everything felt so different to how it used to. When they were in school, they both thought they had the hottest, dreamiest boyfriend in the world, but looking back they were actually relatively scrawny. Kurt had filled out, his shoulders and his chest and arms more defined. Blaine’s back felt broader, his thighs stronger, and he apologised and tried to wrap an arm around his admittedly podgier-than-it-used-to-be middle.

“Blaine-”

“You clearly take better care of yourself than I do-”

Kurt kissed him and worked his way down his chest, pinning his arms to the bed. Blaine closed his eyes as he felt Kurt’s lips on his skin, looking up when they suddenly disappeared. Kurt was looking straight at him, completely serious. Blaine was about to ask what was wrong when Kurt bobbed down and blew a huge raspberry on his tummy. Blaine wriggled under him and started laughing again.

“It’s cute, Blaine. I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Blaine whispered before pulling Kurt down on top of him. These weren’t boys’ bodies any more, full of uncertainty and insecurity. They were men’s. Blaine’s hair was already speckled with grey _(‘It’s hot. Very Clooney.’)_ and Kurt wasn’t nearly as flexible as he used to be, but they still smiled at each other as if they were perfect. It wasn’t just their bodies that had changed. Their stamina was different. They both lasted longer, but they needed more recovery time, which just allowed for more kissing and smiling and talking in between rounds. There was _‘oh, that’s new’_ and _‘where did you pick that up?’_ which went unanswered because they didn’t want to hear about anybody else. They just wanted Kurt and Blaine and they wanted to enjoy being KurtandBlaine again, because that was a thing again, and the sex was so much better but as if they were never apart, all at the same time.

Also, 18-year-old Kurt had a much stronger gag reflex. Blaine looked down in awe as he felt Kurt swallow around him, nose nudging against his hip, and even with his mouth full he still looked like he was smirking.

“Since when can you- oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, _Kurt-_ ”

Blaine complimented Kurt’s house, and Kurt pointed out that he’d only really seen the bedroom.

“Well, it’s a hell of a view.”

“Christ, I’d forgotten how cheesy you were.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

“I guess you’re doing well for yourself, being such a big star and all.”

“I get by.”

“You do more than that.”

“Well, yeah. I might have been the first person to write and star in an off-Broadway musical. Or something.”

“I know. I was there.”

“What?”

“Yep; opening night. In the back – I didn’t want you to see me.”

“I guess that was a good thing. I probably would’ve fallen apart.”

“You were amazing, Kurt. I knew you’d be huge.”

“Thanks. Rachel told me you’re teaching.”

Blaine smiled.

“Yep. Kindergarten. I’m the annoying guy who makes cookies and sings songs and forgets to teach them to read and stuff.”

“I’m sure they’ll do just fine. You were always great with kids.”

“Thanks. They seem to like me.”

There was a pause. Kids were the one thing they’d never talked about, one thing that was too far into the future, that would have been naïve to discuss at seventeen, but as they smiled at each other now they both got a little nervous. They weren’t teenagers any more. It could happen.

They didn’t sleep all night. They held each other, they talked, they fucked, and they were still beaming when sunlight was pouring through the blinds. Blaine was lying back on the pillows, one hand behind his head and the other on Kurt’s waist, Kurt’s chin resting on his chest as he looked up at him.

“Morning.”

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Blaine stretched up with a raspy groan to kiss Kurt’s forehead.

“So. That was fun.”

“It was. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a few days.”

Kurt laughed and crawled over him to reach for the pizza box from last night.

“Here. Keep your strength up. I’m not done with you yet.”

“If you insist,” he took a slice and bit into it. As Kurt kept smiling at him between pressing lazy kisses to his chest, he swallowed, put the food down and shifted so he was resting on his elbows. “Kurt?”

“Mmm?” He responded, reaching for his own slice of pizza. Blaine pushed his hand away and Kurt frowned. “What?”

“Marry me.”

“But I’m naked.”

Blaine wriggled so he was on his side, taking Kurt’s hand and looking straight into his eyes.

“Good. Naked is always good. But I’m serious. I mean, we could spend months evaluating everything and thinking it through but I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose you again. I want this and you and us until I’m old and gross and you’re old and distinguished and… marry me.”

Kurt beamed and kissed him.

“Well, have you got anywhere to be?”

“What, today?”

Kurt nodded.

“We’ve wasted enough time.”

“Are you calling last night a waste?”

Kurt kissed him again.

“Nuh-uh. Nothing wasteful about that, my friend. Boyfriend. Wait – fiancé. Now get that peachy butt out of my bed and we’ll make it husband.”

Blaine never thought he’d be so eager to get out of Kurt’s bed. Kurt reached out and grabbed his wrist, yanking him back onto the mattress with an ‘oof’ and kissing him.

“But Kurt, don’t you wanna-”

“But _Blaine,_ ” he mimicked, “we’ll go, I promise, just as soon as we’ve had engagement sex.”

Blaine laughed and kissed him again. He thought about only kissing Kurt for the rest of his life. He was more than okay with it.


End file.
